


If It Ain't Broke

by allofthepixels



Series: Come Apart, Fall Together [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Didn't Know They Were Dating, M/M, Roommates, Tickling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-05
Updated: 2019-03-05
Packaged: 2019-11-12 11:21:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18009986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allofthepixels/pseuds/allofthepixels
Summary: Dean knows that sometimes his best friend needs a decent distraction to get him out of his head and is starting to realize how much he likes being that distraction.





	If It Ain't Broke

**Words: 1,644**

“Hey, brought pizza!” Dean pushed open the door and headed straight through to the kitchen to drop the box on the counter.  

He plated two slices and circled back through the hallway to find Cas sprawled across the couch, legs lazily draped over an arm, his eyes trained on his laptop, presumably still working. 

He got a grunt of acknowledgement before Cas resumed his work. He could spot the tell-tale outline of the now-infamous logo he’d been struggling with over the last few weeks. As Cas had ranted multiple times, this client was very much married to an eye-murdering shade of orange and a ‘fucking hideous design element” and was reluctant to work with Cas’ preferred color palette and suggestions, meaning he was frequently turning a frustrated shade of red around the neck and ears between snipey conference calls.

“M’over,” Dean said, lifting Cas’ legs and sliding underneath them in a practiced motion and shoving the extra plate under Cas’ nose. 

“Thanks,” he muttered between an obscenely large bite. Dean had a feeling it was the first meal of the day (at 6:45, no less) for his friend and he fought the urge to cluck his tongue and make a comment about circadian rhythms and metabolism, feeling more and more like his mother (or worse,  _Sammy_ ) every day. 

Besides he could imagine the look he’d get, closed lipped with two slow sardonic blinks. He’ll pass.

Cas has his own apartment (a room subletted from some friend of a friend of a cousin across town) but that hasn’t really stopped him from manifest destiny-ing his way into Dean’s apartment on days when he didn’t need to stay at his trendy co-working space of an office for long. Not that Dean minded. 

Lately, the quiet has started to grate at him in a way he couldn’t really explain — he just knew that it felt better to come home to someone (all the better when that someone was Cas.) It made him feel like he had something going for him, obvious lack of romantic life excluded, outside work. 

“Did the dick guy agree to your terms yet?” 

Cas looked up from his screen and the pizza and made a face. 

“Not yet. He insists there’s a way to make it both ‘classic and minimalist’ without altering the design or colors of his hideous family crest,” he paused, chewing thoughtfully. “Who the _fuck_  has a family crest in the year of our lord 2018? 

“Rich dicks?” Dean shrugged, patting Cas’ ankle and sliding his crust-filled plate over to the coffee table. 

“Must be nice,” Cas rubbed his hands over his eyes, cracking his neck in what sounded like a painful sort of way to the side. “The worst part is this dumb-ass’s project — with his countless, inane ‘oh, one more thing’ notes —is taking up so much more time than I anticipated. I promised Charlie I’d get her and Dorothy a first pass on their invitations by  _Thursday_ and I haven’t even looked at any of the ideas they sent over. _”_

“They’ll understand if you need an extra few days or a week. Heck, Cas, they’re getting married next year and you’re doing this shit for free — they’ll work with whatever timeline you give ‘em.” 

“It’s not about that! It’s about the lack of respect for my time and labor and…”

“Whoa, hey, hey, I’m on  _your_ side!” Dean gave his ankle a squeeze. “Can you reach out to another person on your team and, I dunno, tradesies this guy away? After you invoice him, of course.”

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Cas sighed. “I think I just need to start setting certain boundaries with my clients in our contracts. No matter how satisfying it will be to bill Dick Roman for my hours, it’s not worth all this stress.” 

“Wait, I’m sorry, the dick is  _named_  Dick?” Dean’s eyes widened. “Who in the year of our lord 2018 goes by the name Dick?” 

“You know what they say about ‘Rich Dicks,’” Cas said, inflecting the air quotes as he focused on his screen.

“Hm. Lemme see that anyway,” Dean made grabby hands at the laptop and Cas relented after a few seconds.“You know what this needs?” 

“Please, enlighten me,” Cas leaned back against his side of the couch, pinching the bridge of his nose in his regular grump pose. 

Not really sure how he could help with the design part (Dean, admittedly, wasn’t a designer beyond a few Adobe Suite courses he took in college), he did know Cas and what his frustrated brain needed. He also knew Cas had this  _thing —_ as he’d learned and[experienced on far too many occasions](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Farchiveofourown.org%2Fworks%2F10727124&t=YmFjNmU5MGEyZTEzOWVhOTljNWJhMzA0YTY4ZmJmZDFmNTk3NmY2NCxCdnZ3bG9iUw%3D%3D&b=t%3A2cVJvOcDM9pSzAD6FTmtsA&p=http%3A%2F%2Fbetterthanpixels.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F173885798195%2Fif-it-aint-broke&m=1) — that was his particular favorite way to blow off some steam. 

“Something bright, something relatable, something that evokes passion, mystery and  _class_  — Comic Sans.” 

“Shut  _the fuck_  up, Dean.” Cas laughed, though. Dean was winning… in his own way. He said something else about adding depth to the negative space with a color very clearly not part of the palette Cas was working with. 

Cas slammed his heel down into Dean’s leg with a huff. He, in turn, snickered and scrabbled his hands over the foot nearest to him making Cas jump, pulling his legs to his chest and jostling the laptop. 

“Easy!” Dean held the computer aloft to keep it from falling, but tilted his head as though he was still thinking about it. “Maybe a drop shadow across here. Make it look 3D as hell. Is  _Word Art_  still cool?”  

“Asshole,” Cas sprung and straddled Dean’s lap, bringing his hands in devastating lobster claws right where his upper ribs met his underarms. 

“Whoa, whoa, hehehey-” Dean inched back, still holding the laptop but otherwise pinned between Cas and the couch. 

“Put the computer down and chill on your design advice for a second,” he punctuated his demand with a twist of his fingers that made Dean suck in a breath. “Please.” 

“Okay, ohohokay,” Dean closed the computer and placed it on the side-table, keeping his hands up in a defensive “I surrender” pose since Cas showed no interest in removing his hands. “Happy?”

“I’m elated,” his hands pinched inward, darting up into his underarms. 

“Cohohome on!” Dean’s arms shot down, trapping Cas’ hands where they were — Dean had a feeling Cas knew that would happen. And he found himself writhing in his seat, wishing he could will himself to force the hands out, but his body just shutting down any attempts to do anything but clamp down and protect what it could. 

“Just lift up your arms, Dean, and I’ll take my hands right out.”

“Nahaha, wait, I cahan’t.”  

“Then we’re both stuck, I guess,” Cas did something with his fingers that drilled his thumbs deep up into his underarms despite the pressure from Dean. “Shame.”

“Whoahaho, Cahahahas!” 

“Yes, Dean?” Cas kept on prodding. Dean had a feeling he could take his hands out whenever and wherever he wanted at this point. He knew when he started this whole bit that this was where he’d probably end up (or in some variation of desperate ticklish distress) but even when he knows and he’s provoking it, he’s never really ever  _prepared_.

“Hahaha-hi?” 

“Hi.” Cas maneuvered his legs and moved his hands quickly as Dean giggled and got each of his hands pinned under a knee, prodding gently at Dean’s ribs and sides. “I know what you’re trying to do.” 

“Uhuhuh, ihis it wohorking?” He let out a breathy curse of “shit!” as Cas’ hands wandered lower. 

“It’s effective enough,” Cas’ hands made quick, devastating work of Dean’s hips, with squeezes and prods and wiggles along his pantline. Dean’s laughter went from manageable to not-at-all pretty quickly — he leaned forward, pressing his face into Cas’ chest, muffling his giggles into his shoulder. 

For a minute, he looked up and Cas’ face was just  _there,_ eyes just refusing to break contact in that stupid tingly way. Oh no, Dean really could never be prepared for  _this_. Even when he’s out to make Cas feel better, there’s something warm in it for him too. He’s needed, he can be that something for Cas that no one else can. They can have those lazy, giggly smiles. His eyes tripped down Cas’ face, staying a bit too long over his lips. (No,  _bad_.)

“You’re an _excellent_ distraction.” Cas said as he eased off Dean, letting him lay in a disheveled pile at the end of the couch.

“Thahat’s the nicest thing anyheeheone’s eh-ever said about me.” 

“Dumbass,” Cas sent another errant poke toward his side. Dean, sensitive and wound pretty tight jumped and did his best impression of a glare. 

“You staying the night again?” Dean asked as Cas picked up his laptop again, his frown resuming but far less intense. 

“I spend too many nights here as is,” Cas sighed. 

“So that’s a yes?”

“If you’ll have me?” 

“At this point, I think you should just move in here at this rate and take over the closet guest room for good,” Dean said too fast, blushing when he caught himself. Did you _really_  just ask your best friend to move in? “It’d be a steal on rent, at least. You know, if it ain’t broke…” 

“Maybe it would do us well to ‘cut out the middle man’ since I spend most nights here anyway,“ Cas did some awkward air quotes. “I’ll take a look at my sublet agreement tomorrow and we can talk about it again? If you’re sure…” 

“Great! I mean, yeah. Absolutely.”  Dean went to stand up and clean up some of the dishes and felt Cas’ hand level on his shoulder, giving him a gentle squeeze. 

“And thanks, Dean. For everything.” 

Dean walked into the kitchen biting back a smile. Yeah, this  _is_  something he’s got going for him. 


End file.
